


A Storm of Arrows

by pantswarrior



Series: The Cultists' Cycle [6]
Category: Vagrant Story
Genre: Dark Magic, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Immortality, Injury, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:21:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27267148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pantswarrior/pseuds/pantswarrior
Summary: A successful assassination attempt leaves Sydney in need of assistance, in more ways than one. Fortunately, Hardin is there to fulfill all of his needs.
Relationships: Sydney Losstarot/John Hardin
Series: The Cultists' Cycle [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/3668
Kudos: 5





	A Storm of Arrows

**Author's Note:**

> So twenty years into writing these two, I'm working on a larger project to be posted later, and Sydney's still giving me surprises. Assuming this must take place pretty early on after he and Hardin got their s*** together to some degree, while they were still relatively unjaded about how it was going to be for the two of them.

"Look about you - you wretched, glorious creatures, beloved strays. Look about you, even at this late hour!" 

His arm swung wide in a dramatic gesture, made more so by the way the metal of his clawed hands glinted golden, reflecting the small flames of the lamps and lanterns that lit the town square, and with it the crowd that had assembled to hear his words.

"Though the night has fallen, are you in darkness? Has the light forsaken you? No - the light remains. In your diligence, it is your own light which shines forth in the absence of the greater, until the greater returns. And above-" Another dramatic gesture, as his hand stretched upwards, as if to pluck the stars. "The sun may have set, but the moon and the stars remain, to guide the paths of those who have no more light to give for themselves. Does the chill and fade of the coming autumn bring despair? Or do you rejoice in the harvest to come? It is clear to any who ponder such matters that the gods have provided all we need."

Small murmurings arose from the villagers at the mention of "gods", and one among them was recalled to himself, to his duties. If he had chanced to hear Sydney preach, Hardin thought, rather than the more humble manner in which they had met, he might have followed the man for entirely different reasons than had ultimately driven his decision. Sydney was very much in his element before the crowds, and he was _breathtaking_.

Or perhaps those entirely different reasons affected his reaction to Sydney's preaching, he had to admit. Knowing Sydney as a man, knowing he too had doubts and fears, the way he spoke so boldly now as he stood atop the makeshift stage... It was Sydney, and yet it was not. Hardin had not been with Müllenkamp, or with Sydney, for as long as many among their company, but he was learning to recognize the moments when Sydney was acting as oracle rather than on his own behalf, those moments where he had opened himself to the gods and let them _use_ the man who was Sydney Losstarot. Not that he was any less Sydney, for the graceful movements of his heavy metal limbs remained familiar - he was simply something _more_ , with an additional glory mounted upon his own charisma.

But, Hardin reminded himself, he _was_ still Sydney. As for Hardin himself, he had been given a task regarding the man, rather than the gods who gave him his words. 

"Yes, I speak of gods," Sydney affirmed, lowering his voice slightly, tossing a coy smile to his audience. "Not a singular god to rule only the Light, for this world consists of more, much more. If 'the Light' were truly meant to control - why then, does the night fall? What and whom keep you safe in your slumber? Does the darkness not offer its own comfort? How can one rest, with the sun shining brightly in their eyes?"

Sydney was reaching the dangerous point of his message now - the words that had made the zealots turn on him many times, the ideas that provoked the most devout to action. Still facing forward in his place near the front of the crowd, Hardin looked over those assembled with his Talent, the Sight beyond sight, seeking any who looked as if they might be preparing to act upon Sydney's blasphemous speech.

"Of course," Sydney continued, "there are those among us who must. The night watch, the physicians, the innkeepers who offer a respite to those who have traveled late into the evening. And when they take their rest in the brightness of the day, where do they find it? In the shadows. Those who care for us in the night know the value of darkness..."

Some of the crowd's murmurs were approving - perhaps there were those among them who appreciated the analogy. Still, Hardin kept a watchful eye.

"And so often, it is in the darkness that new life is conceived, bringing a renewal of light into the world," Sydney noted. "Darkness has its place just as the light. Why, the light itself casts shadows! The sun has a time to set, and a time to rise again, and neither day nor night shall ever claim the victory. They are intertwined, light and dark - one cannot exist without the other. And yet, the church of St. Iocus tells you to walk in the Light - and forbids talk of the Dark."

There was definitely uneasiness in the crowd now. Some of those standing close to Hardin clearly had come for the spectacle of the prophet rather than an eagerness to hear his message, from their mutterings, but they did not act. Not yet.

"I tell you, the Light is no lie, but the Light _alone_ is a lie. Those who stare directly into the Light can see naught else - and for them, that is the only truth they know! But those who look instead upon what the Light illuminates will see all things clearly, light and shadow, earth and air, fire and water - all the forces of the gods' creation, working in harmony as they intended. If but one of the world's elements were to hold sway, and eliminate all others, or even its opposing element? What then would become of us?"

Sydney's words were finding their mark among many of the people of the village, Hardin suspected, seeing the understanding and awe in the eyes of those who considered his words thoughtfully. Those who were set in their ways were growing cold, perhaps guessing where this analogy might be leading. Beneath the cover of his cloak, Hardin's hand slipped down to loose the peacebond on his hilt. Just in case... 

There was no one else about to aid them, for more and more of late, this was a dangerous endeavor they had set out upon. The less people Sydney had to concern himself with protecting, the better. As for Hardin, he was able to protect himself rather well without Sydney's assistance, and provide a certain amount of protection for Sydney while he left himself vulnerable; Sydney had deemed the risk of but one acceptable, given that the one in question was quite capable. Or perhaps there were other reasons Sydney had conceded to his company specifically... but Sydney would not have agreed were it not a pragmatic option.

"With only the air to breathe, from whence would the crops spring?" Sydney inquired of them, waving a hand towards the fields that lay to the east. "With only the water to drink, how would you keep warm as the days grow shorter?" he asked, turning his hand instead to the fading sky in the west, pacing back and forth atop the piled crates that served as his makeshift pulpit. "The church of St. Iocus, encouraged by the king, seeks to grow the power of the Light so that it may dominate the land. But as the Light grows, so must the Dark, by its very nature holding the balance. Just as night turns to day and back to night, neither can claim the victory. Eternal spring may sound pleasant, but what then would become of the harvest? The Dark _must_ push back against the Light, lest the balance fail, the scales topple," Sydney intoned ominously, raising his outstretched arms and his face to the heavens. 

Sydney on his own was bewitching to Hardin. Sydney as oracle of the gods was... beyond words. Even so, Hardin shook his head slightly, focusing on his task. Lost to his prophecy, his face upturned, Sydney had no eyes but Hardin and his Talent to see... and what Hardin saw was a slow, subtle motion near the rear of the assembly - the lamplights illuminating something flat and long rising, wooden workings strung taut. This gathering was about to turn violent, as was often the case - and partially the point. 

"In the folly of mankind, the gods-"

Hardin should have shouted his warning aloud for all those present rather than the one in most imminent danger, but his concern for Sydney's safety overwhelmed. "Sydney! In the-"

Before he could finish, the trigger was loosed on the bowgun; the archer's aim was truer than most, and the bolt pierced Sydney's chest, causing him to stagger back but not fall. But the archer was not alone - as the crowd gasped, a volley of bolts and arrows burst forth. Some glanced off metal limbs as Sydney instinctively turned away, raising a hand to block his head, others struck flesh.

There were screams and shouts, the crowd scattered, and it was all Hardin could do to hold his ground firmly as those near him shoved their way past, going the _opposite_ direction from where he needed to be. The opposite direction from where Sydney stood, weaving and dizzy, riddled with bolts and arrows, stumbling back as he gasped for breath. Hardin's heart was in his throat as he leapt atop the crates as well, taking Sydney in his arms and pulling him down behind their cover. They would be safe there, Hardin thought, crouching and drawing his sword, but not for long. Sydney could heal himself, and then they would make their escape.

...But that was not to be, Hardin discovered when he looked down to Sydney, still clasped against him with his left arm. "Sydney...!"

Sydney was only gasping painfully, with no breath for spellcasting. Blood was at the corner of his mouth, the bolt protruding from his chest rose and fell harshly with his pained breath... and then fell again, as his breath ceased.

"Oh gods..." It was half shaky exclamation, half prayer as Hardin dropped his sword to lay Sydney out as flat as he could manage, with bolts and arrows in his flesh, to make sure his fear hadn't gotten the better of him. But no, Sydney was...

Sydney was immortal, Hardin reminded himself. And then again, more firmly, as he reached for his sword again - Sydney _was_ immortal. Hardin had seen him rise before, the Dark healing him of its own accord, or perhaps by the gods' will. Hardin wasn't sure of the details, what precisely caused it to happen. But those who had been with Müllenkamp before his arrival had told him early on, and he had considered it nonsense - until the time came that he had seen Sydney impaled on a templar's sword, and they had told him to simply wait. And besides, now that he knew more of how the Dark worked within a human body, he knew that if Sydney had truly perished, he would not leave a body behind.

Still, Hardin had only seen this happen once, months past, and his faith in the gods was a relatively new and immature faith. It was just as well Sydney could not hear him now, for his heart was crying out with grief and doubt in spite of what his rational mind was telling him. Fortunately, that rational portion of his mind was firm enough that he was scrying the area around the crates they were hidden behind as the villagers fled the square, assisted by the town guard whose priority was their safety. The guard therefore paid little attention as the handful of would-be assassins approached, some now wielding melee weapons rather than bows.

Fortunately for Hardin, he need not let them get close enough to use his sword. Spellcasting was another relatively new facet of his life, but Sydney was a skilled teacher and had assured Hardin that he was a talented student. Without hesitation, Hardin steeled himself and spoke the words of a simple spell. The men were too close together to avoid all of them being caught up in the burst of flames that erupted in their midst. Those who sought Sydney's life were not all dead, Hardin saw with satisfaction, but all had been burned, and those who could still stand were running, lost in the crowd of frightened people.

He might have followed them if he wished, through the use of his Talent, but Hardin's primary concern was for Sydney, making sure that Sydney escaped this chaos safely. ...Or otherwise, he admitted. He'd already failed at keeping him unharmed, but he turned back, thinking to gather Sydney's body up in his arms again and carry him from further danger.

He was just in time to see the spray of blood as Sydney coughed. His breathing was harsh as one metal hand reached up, trembling, to yank the bolt from his chest. Flinging it aside, Sydney's eyes stayed closed, his mouth panting, for an instant longer, then he reached up to do the same with another bolt protruding from beneath his ribs.

"Sydney..." Hardin was both relieved and worried, and began to reach for him, whether to assist or simply touch, but Sydney's eyes came open, flashing with... something Hardin could not quite identify, but it made him flinch back.

"Watch..." Sydney rasped. Clearly his breath was still coming slowly, for he was not usually so concise. "Not me. Watch, Hardin."

Properly reminded of his assignment, Hardin nodded and wordlessly returned to his scrying. There was still confusion on the other side of the square, a fight had broken out, presumably between those who agreed and disagreed with Sydney's words, and three guards were heading their way, looking grim. "We'd best go now," Hardin muttered. "It looks as though we're no longer welcome."

"Spells..." It was all Sydney said, breathing heavily, but in that alone, his implication was clear. He could not cast. "We go... on foot."

Hardin nodded. It had been his initial plan, after all, and so he set his sword down again for as long as it took to pick up Sydney, to heft his slight weight over one shoulder before rising. Within the cover of all the commotion left in their wake, he could slip away down an alleyway.

"Not the inn," Sydney breathed. "No glamour..." They had had a room there, under other names and different faces, but Sydney seemingly was not capable of maintaining the magick that would change their appearances at the moment. Hardin changed course and found that as he had suspected, some of the guard stationed near the edge of town had left their posts to deal with what was nearly becoming a riot at the square. There were gaps in their watch, and with Hardin's Sight, it was easy enough to find one to slip through to the solitude of the fields beyond.

On his shoulder, Sydney was still gasping, and not from the injury to his lung that by now had surely healed, with the bolt removed. Rather, there were still arrows in him, and Hardin could feel at least one of them against his back and shoulder with each step, though he did his best to try to avoid putting any more pressure on them than he had to. It could not possibly be anything other than agony for Sydney, with the shafts still embedded in his flesh.

When they were deep in a field thick with grass hay, Hardin stopped to let Sydney down; with the open plains dominating the area, it was the best they could do for cover. Usually so composed, Sydney moaned in pain, pressing his palms against his side and a protruding arrow therein as Hardin settled him on the ground. "Sydney..." Hardin said urgently, resting a hand upon his shoulder. "What would you have me do?"

"Water," Sydney whispered shakily, pushing himself up to hands and knees. "If you can."

Their belongings had been left back at the inn, unfortunately, but again Hardin's Talent proved useful. Still crouching in the cover of the hay, he could look about the area, and the flatness of the land showed itself to be a blessing, for he could see a promising shape in the distance, then take a closer look. "There is a well not far off. It should not take me more than-"

He was interrupted by the sound of Sydney retching, and Hardin stopped his scrying to reach out and steady him. The second bolt he'd removed looked to have pierced his stomach, he thought as he rubbed Sydney's back until the spasms passed, mindful of the arrow in his side and another still embedded in his shoulder. The Dark might have restored his organs' function and stopped the bleeding, but he'd likely bled out quite a bit internally beforehand. Simply _not dying_ did not vanquish all the discomfort of being mortally wounded, Hardin supposed.

Finally Sydney settled back on his knees, still unsteady but breathing easier. "...Will you be all right if I go?" Hardin asked, offering a handkerchief.

Sydney began to laugh, but it only caused him to cough again. He had a point, Hardin acknowledged. Again he rubbed Sydney's back lightly, and when Sydney lowered the handkerchief from his lips, he could see plainly even in the light of the moon and the stars that it was indeed dark with blood. "...Right. But you know," Hardin admitted, "I loathe to leave you alone and in pain."

"The sentiment is appreciated..." Sydney seemed to be breathing much better now, at least enough to speak easier. "But all the more now... I would very much... like some water." Hardin nodded, and gave Sydney's back one final caress before getting to his feet.

With their skins back at the inn, Hardin had nothing to carry water in. Whatever farmer owned these fields and its well would not have need of the bucket before morning, he reasoned, and cut it free from its rope once he had drawn. The Sight ensured that he found Sydney again easily within the large field on his way back - and to his alarm, he saw that Sydney was already dealing with one of the remaining arrows on his own, breaking off the shaft to yank the head the rest of the way through his side. Hardin frowned and quickened his steps.

Thankfully, Sydney had not touched the other arrow by the time Hardin returned to him. "You could have let me help," he told Sydney, who was still pressing one palm against his side.

"There was no need." Though clearly still in pain, Sydney was indeed breathing much easier. "This is not the first time."

Setting the bucket down, Hardin knelt beside Sydney once more, reaching out to rest his own hand upon Sydney's side, skin now bloodstained but unbroken. He knew that, of course, but... "...How many times?"

Sydney shook his head vaguely. "Enough."

"No doubt." Hardin sighed and took a look at the remaining arrow in his shoulder. It had struck him from almost behind, and had not gone all the way through, stopped by bone or perhaps the steel where metal plate met flesh in front. The wound had healed _around_ the head, though... 

"It will heal again," Sydney answered Hardin's unspoken dismay. "And yes... it will go much faster with your assistance."

Hardin was both relieved that Sydney would accept his aid, and... he'd also been afraid of that. "Perhaps you would like something to bite down on?" he suggested grimly, settling down behind Sydney. 

Sydney had the audacity to laugh faintly again. "I still have your handkerchief. And if I might make a suggestion of my own?" he added. "Remove your shirt. It seems as though you've thus far avoided too many bloodstains, but I fear this may be somewhat... excessive."

So at least he knew. He also likely knew that Hardin would be unable to keep himself from holding Sydney after doing what had been asked of him, until the wound began to close and the pain lessened. Hardin obliged, unfastening his cloak to set it aside, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it a short distance away. "...All right then. Are you ready?"

"Just... do it quickly." The last was slightly muffled; a glance with the Sight showed Hardin that Sydney had taken his advice. Sydney took a deep breath, holding it, and Hardin braced himself as well as he took firm hold of the arrow.

It went very much as Hardin had expected. His handkerchief muffled a sound that likely would have been a shout, and Sydney bent double in agony as Hardin dropped the arrow and wrapped one arm around Sydney's waist, the other stroking his hair, sweeping it away from the blood that poured out from the newly reopened wound. But just as before, the Dark did its work quickly. The flow slowed, then stopped, and the torn flesh healed over.

Finally Sydney's breath evened out, and he let himself lean back on Hardin's chest and rest. "Thank you, John," he murmured.

"It is my privilege to assist you." And to have Sydney, in all his beauty and power, lying in his arms. Calling him by the forename no one else used but he, and only in the most familiar moments between them. Now that things had calmed, Hardin found himself thinking back to the awesome sight of Sydney preaching before the crowds, speaking the words he had been given by the gods. To think that same man was resting against him now, that he had anything worthy of offering to someone such as Sydney...

Which reminded him that Sydney had in fact asked for something, and he had obliged. "Would you like some of the water I brought, now that that's done?"

Sydney nodded. "Very much. The taste of blood occupies my mouth," he muttered with disgust.

"Indeed," Hardin agreed, though something occurred to him. "I brought the bucket from the well, but it's rather large - and I suppose you can't cup your hands to drink as I might have."

"No..." Sydney turned his head, smirking up at Hardin. It looked like he was returning to his normal self. "But you might cup yours."

"...Ahhh." Hardin supposed that was a way to handle the matter. Pouring a little water out to rinse his hands of the blood on them, he settled Sydney to sit up against his chest and reached around him to dip his hands into the bucket, raising them carefully to Sydney's lips as he might have raised them to his own, with Sydney's hands on his wrists to guide them. It was not graceful, and some of it spilled, but no doubt Sydney intended to wash soon anyhow. 

Sydney made no complaints about the clumsiness, and after repeating the process a few times, he sighed deeply. "That will do... Again, thank you."

"And again I say it is a privilege." Hardin rested his chin atop Sydney's head, closing his eyes as he let his arms wrap around Sydney, felt the sharpness of Sydney's hands as they settled atop his own. After what they had been through that evening, it seemed all the more precious to be holding Sydney like this, under the stars, hidden from sight. 

"Tomorrow, I will make myself known in the square again," Sydney said suddenly, breaking their comfortable silence.

Hardin was incredulous. "After this? Why?"

"That those who hear my words and take them to heart may know the power of the gods and the Dark," Sydney replied. "And that those who trust in them will not be cowed by the threats of men. And... I would say that a dead man could not gather the support of the people, but St. Iocus is how we arrived at this situation," he added dryly, "so perhaps he could. Even so, unlike their saint, I am not dead."

It made a certain amount of sense, but Hardin didn't like it. Even the idea of going back for their belongings, as they must do at some point, was not something he looked forward to. Knowing that there were those about who would have killed Sydney, who might try again... But he also knew what Sydney would tell him if he said so - that there were also souls in that village who might need such a sign, such a message as he brought. Müllenkamp required support or at least sympathy from the common people, who might join the uprising when it inevitably came. There might be one there, or many, who had a role to play in the gods' grand plan.

"If you doubt my judgment," Sydney said - not a rebuke, not in anger, simply a statement, "you need not come along."

"No! No," Hardin said quickly. "I gave you my word. I will keep watch for you again. And attempt to do a better job of it," he added, his voice lowering.

Sydney sighed faintly. "Hardin, you are not infallible. You bear no blame for what happened tonight. Moreover, if not for your actions, the evening would have become much more unpleasant for me by this time. Far more unpleasant than... the two of us, as we are now," he finished, his voice lowering.

That was almost certainly true. If Sydney had been alone... But he hadn't, and he was not alone now. Hardin's arms tightened around him for a moment. "Even so... I will try to be of more use."

Sydney gave no reply, but tilted his head back a bit further, resting against Hardin's shoulder. If Hardin put what had just happened out of mind, this was actually rather nice, just being there with Sydney, holding him.

Although the lingering scent of blood, the feel of it on his skin, did somewhat intrude on the peaceful atmosphere. "Perhaps you'd like assistance with washing as well?" Hardin offered. "Or would you rather take care of that yourself?"

"Hmm..." The faint hum sounded sly, for some reason. "There are... a few things I would rather not take care of for myself."

"Mm?" Hardin got his answer when Sydney gently picked up one of Hardin's hands, and moved it from where it rested at his waist, down to his groin. Through the thin leather of Sydney's pants, he already felt very warm, at least half hard. At just that suggestion, that single touch, Hardin felt his own body already reciprocating. "...At such a time?" he asked, though having been invited, he could not help but fondle. 

"Particularly at such a time."

How could he possibly be in the state of mind for... "Not that I object," Hardin acknowledged. "Yet... only a short time ago, you... you were, well..." He wasn't sure if it would be crude to say it.

Sydney understood, and turned his face up to Hardin's. "And now? I am alive."

"To say that I am glad of that would be an understatement." Though again, there was that gleam in Sydney's eye that was somehow disconcerting, almost frightening, though it was clear he did not intend to be, and that he bore Hardin no malice. It was merely intense - and more so than Sydney's usual intensity. Something just seemed strange...

Not so strange as to be off-putting, however. The two of them were alone, hidden from view. Hardin already had taken his shirt off, Sydney's bare back rested against his chest. It would have been difficult to resist the urge to do as Sydney suggested, had Hardin cared to resist. His hand cupped the bulge within Sydney's pants, stroking lightly - and on second thought, paused for a moment to tug Sydney closer against him, drawing their hips together, so that he might press against Sydney's back. It was different... being behind Sydney.

Sydney may have heard that thought, for he shifted his hips in a rather intriguing way, pressing back against Hardin. Hardin inhaled deeply, his face buried in Sydney's hair. Emboldened, he loosed the laces at the front of Sydney's pants and slipped his hand inside to continue its work, while the other wandered up over Sydney's chest... only to find it still wet with blood. Hardin found that unsettling, but perhaps Sydney would find his original idea all the more interesting in a different context. 

Sydney groaned faintly in mock protest as Hardin removed his hands, reaching for the handkerchief Sydney had dropped earlier. Indeed, spotted with blood, and Hardin took a moment to rinse it and wring it out before wetting it again.

The wound on the back of Sydney's shoulder was perhaps the least suggestive location, and so after cleaning away the blood that had been smeared over his own chest from holding him, Hardin started there; the least suggestive, but not unappealing, and after wiping it as clean as he could manage under the circumstances, he could not resist pressing his lips against the smooth, damp skin. Sydney drew in a sharp breath, tilting his head as Hardin nuzzled against his shoulder, soaking the cloth again to wash away all traces of the wound at his side. Fortunately, Hardin did not have to look with his eyes to finish his work - due to his Talent, he could keep his face buried in Sydney's hair, and yet still See.

"I must admit," Sydney breathed, as Hardin reached up to run the wet cloth over his chest, "this is far more entertaining than washing myself."

"I would rather not do it again, mind you." The words were mumbled against the nape of Sydney's neck, and Sydney made a sound that was half laugh, half gasp. With Sydney at least passably cleansed of his own blood, Hardin dropped the handkerchief aside and simply wrapped his arms around Sydney. Those moments before Sydney had started to breathe again had seemed like an eternity. "Immortality or not, the sight of you..." He couldn't bear to even say it, but of course Sydney would know what he meant. 

"I can imagine." There was a short pause, as Sydney rested his hands atop Hardin's again, but then he turned, almost pushing Hardin down to the ground. "...But I am alive..." he whispered, crawling to lie atop Hardin, "and you are alive, and what better way to celebrate these vessels in which our souls reside...?"

"Indeed." Hardin drew up his knees to cradle Sydney between; he was not going to argue that point. Though, again, that dangerous glint in Sydney's eye - and the teasing nature of his words, yet his expression looked deadly serious. "...Sydney, are you..." He didn't know how to put it. It was not as if anything was _wrong_ , and he didn't object to anything Sydney was doing or suggesting. But again, Sydney would understand. He thought so, anyway.

Sydney paused again. His eyes, only a handsbreadth away from Hardin's, lost that strange look for an instant, then closed as he smiled, breathed a faint laugh against Hardin's neck. "Was I mistaken that the Sight is your sole Talent granted through the Dark? Or have the gods seen fit to give you a special gift?" he mused. "You are no heartseer, and yet you seem to be able to see right through me."

For a moment Hardin wondered if he should be annoyed, if Sydney was mocking him for his concern, but that did not seem quite right. "Or perhaps," Sydney continued, "it is your strength in the Dark that causes you to see it so easily. For after all..." he explained in a low murmur, intermittently pressing his lips to Hardin's chest, to his neck, his shoulder, "it is the Light we call upon for our healing magicks... It goes against the nature of the Dark to restore, rather than destroy. Jealous of those souls that still have bodies to house them... if it is required to perform such a task, I have found..." Beyond Sydney's lips at his throat, Hardin felt the sharpness of his teeth, teasing of more than a mere nip, and he drew in a sharp breath. "...It... begs to use the flesh it has kept alive... to partake of the pleasures that only flesh may enjoy."

Still wary of the Dark and its true nature, a shiver ran down Hardin's spine at what Sydney was suggesting, but he did not hesitate a moment. "Then let it."

He was all the more certain when Sydney opened his eyes again, pushing himself up to give Hardin a somewhat dubious look - for yes, that was Sydney. It could be none other than Sydney, who knew and respected his uneasiness. Just as earlier when he had let the gods use him to speak, even if the Dark gave voice to its urges through his body, he was still Sydney. "I trust you," Hardin told him. "And if the Dark's desires trouble you, I would have you endure no more trouble tonight. Furthermore..." His hands were on Sydney's sides; they moved to Sydney's back, pulling him down closer, so he could kiss Sydney's neck and shoulder in similar fashion. "...I owe the Dark a great debt, for bringing you back to me."

If he hadn't already guessed that something was unusual with Sydney, the almost pained sound Sydney made at the touch of his mouth would have done it, for he was usually so quiet. "John-"

"Whatever pleases you," Hardin muttered against his skin. "Or whatever I may do for you..." He was still a novice in such matters, and again Sydney his teacher - but as of yet, he had found everything Sydney had taught him on this subject more enjoyable than he would have expected, had the acts been merely described rather than demonstrated. Above all else, it came back to the first point he had made - he trusted Sydney. Sydney knew the Dark, he could control it better than anyone. And if, as seemed to be the case, it made Sydney a bit rougher, a bit wilder, he found that idea... interesting.

From the breathless laugh in his ear, Hardin could tell that thought had escaped. It was largely unnecessary to try to keep his thoughts from Sydney, but he had grown so accustomed to keeping his thoughts to himself that by now his mental shielding techniques were as second nature as the act of wearing clothes. At present, the latter was considerably more frustrating, and having already loosened Sydney's pants, the only difficulty in reaching down to get them off was that his arms could no longer be around Sydney, holding their bodies together. 

Sydney was also eager to be done with that unfortunate necessity as quickly as possible, for he sat back, reached down to yank his boots off while Hardin was sliding his pants over his hips. Kicking them aside, Sydney turned his attention instead to unfastening Hardin's pants in turn. Even with the potentially dangerous quality of Sydney's fingers, even with the obvious impatience at work in him, Hardin trusted him. And it was certainly a sight to behold, he thought as he drew his knees up to remove his own boots - Sydney kneeling between his thighs, looking down at his body with a grin less sly than his usual smirk, and more hungry. "You _could_ hold that position..." Sydney suggested as Hardin raised his hips to slip his pants off. 

Hardin was not sure why that was so oddly appealing, despite the fact his pants were still around his knees. Logistically, however, there was one significant problem with the idea. "But then, how am I to touch you?"

"Hmm, a valid point." Again his words were teasing, but his tone was just a bit too sharp, too serious. "...And the touch of your hands, at the moment, is particularly pleasing..." Sydney moved aside and then pulled Hardin's pants the rest of the way off with such intent that Hardin winced slightly. He would have to make sure they weren't damaged when he put them back on... sometime later. Much later. "Perhaps we would do better to start this way," Sydney suggested, kneeling between Hardin's bent knees once more. "Come, sit up..." As Hardin did so, Sydney hooked his own thighs over Hardin's. This, Hardin found, was even more appealing, particularly when Sydney shifted to move closer. "I trust this is acceptable?" Sydney murmured, lifting his arms to rest upon Hardin's shoulders, looking into his eyes with that same hungry look.

It was Sydney - he already knew the answer, even before the loud groan that emerged from Hardin's lips when Sydney's hips rocked forward against his. His mouth had better ways to respond than to speak what they both already knew, and Hardin's head lowered as his arms enfolded him.

Sydney's mouth still tasted slightly of blood, but Hardin found he didn't care. With Sydney's arms wound around his neck, an unusually ferocious kiss, and the hard heat of Sydney's arousal pressing against his own, it would have been more than enough for him. But then, too, Sydney had mentioned his hands... His hands had been clutching at Sydney's shoulders, but they were certainly willing to explore elsewhere - gliding upwards to sift through the tips of his hair, feeling down the line of his spine to his lower back, roaming to his side and down to where flesh met the metal plate that covered his hip. Not so long ago Hardin had been unsettled by that discovery, but at present his only regret about it was that there was not more of Sydney's skin to touch and to be touched.

Once again, the truth of their embrace, that something was _different_ , showed itself in the sounds Sydney made into the kiss, nearly breaking it to moan when Hardin's fingers caressed his skin, where normally he'd have uttered little more than a sigh. Hardin found this both intoxicating and inspiring, and given Sydney's unsubtle suggestion that had started this...

Sydney did break the kiss then, gasping for breath against Hardin's shoulder when Hardin's hand slipped between the two of them, wrapping around his length. "As in everything else," he panted, "you are a quick study."

"My teacher provides good motivation," Hardin managed to mumble, before his mouth occupied itself instead with the side of Sydney's head, working its way down to his jaw. His other hand was at the back of Sydney's neck, feeling through and clenching in his hair. 

Sydney drew back just enough to bring them face to face again, his brow resting against Hardin's, both of them breathing heavily. "If I may make one suggestion," Sydney murmured.

"Please."

With Sydney's face so close, Hardin could not see his smile, but rather sensed it, from the look in his eyes. "There is plenty of room in your hand for two."

That was a thought that had occurred to Hardin, but being new to the details of lovemaking between men, he had not been sure if it was an unusual thing to do. Sydney laughed faintly, apparently hearing his thought. "John, even if it were, consider who it is in your arms."

Hardin had to grin a bit himself. Indeed, anything his mind might imagine was not so unusual as Sydney, he acknowledged - and since this clearly held appeal to Sydney also, he opened his hand, adjusting his position that he might catch up himself as well, stroking both of them at once. Whether it had been his idea or Sydney's, he found it to be a good one; Sydney's hands were clasped behind Hardin's neck, keeping the blades of his fingers safely away from skin as he leaned back with another soft moan. The motion shifted him enough to push up into Hardin's hand, rubbing against Hardin's own manhood beneath his fingers, and... yes, Hardin was very sure this had been a good idea. 

Even if Sydney was not leaning against him at the moment, he could still touch, and his free hand roamed over Sydney's skin, from the curve of his shoulder to the small of his back, his fingers pressing in as Sydney ground against him, making him groan aloud. The rhythm of his other hand and its loose grip on the two of them never faltered, but for a tremble when Sydney abruptly shifted again, wrapping his legs around Hardin's waist. That was different, for normally Sydney was between _his_ legs, and it was made all the much more unusual by the nature of Sydney's. The heels that dug into his back, locking them together, were cold metal - and that made the position even more compelling for Hardin, as it meant that they could belong to no one _but_ Sydney, a sensation he could get from none other.

Despite his relative inexperience, he had been enough times with Sydney now to recognize the ragged breathing, the way he tossed his head with abandon when he was drawing near to completion. The work of Hardin's fingers grew firmer, his strokes longer, his own climax approaching rapidly with the awareness of Sydney's. The way Sydney moved against him, a slow rocking of the hips, was driving them both ever nearer, but Hardin craved more contact, more skin on skin - and surely Sydney would appreciate the same. His arm reached around Sydney's waist, drawing their bodies together so close that he could feel Sydney's panting breaths against his collarbone, the growing tremble beneath the hand that traced from the tip of the Rood Inverse between Sydney's shoulders to its opposing point at the small of his back. Sydney's arms wound tighter around his neck, still holding his hands safely away, sharp breaths ever quickening. Finally Sydney drew in a deeper gasp. His body arching up against Hardin's, chest and belly pressing against him, and the warmth suddenly spilling over Hardin's hand between them was the final push Hardin needed to give himself over as well.

After, they simply sat for a moment, leaning against one another, catching their breath. No sooner had Hardin let out a contented sigh than Sydney's mouth was rising up to meet his, and he simply held Sydney in his arms, their kisses soft and lazy, having spent themselves.

Or so Hardin had thought - it was not long before Sydney's kiss grew deeper, suggesting more intent. Clearly it was not his imagination, he discovered, when Sydney shifted positions and once more pressed Hardin back onto the ground, their legs intertwining. Again, Hardin had no inclination to protest, but he had to be sure, even as he embraced Sydney atop him. "...That was not enough for the Dark." A statement, rather than a question, because it seemed rather obvious.

Indeed, Sydney's chuckle had a sly sound to it. "For the Dark? The Dark is never satisfied.... but I too find my appetite piqued rather than sated. Though if _you_ have had your fill for the night..."

"I think not," Hardin agreed, still somewhat dazed, "but... it will take a moment."

"Hmm..." Sydney did settle back somewhat. "I have breath and strength enough for spells again," he murmured. "Perhaps the situation in town has calmed by now. We _could_ continue this back at the inn."

In a bed, with their usual preparations at hand. That was certainly an appealing idea, and yet... "...Unless you intend to transport us directly to our room," Hardin observed, "we would have to wash, and dress again." And stand up and move. Hardin was quite content to stay as they were.

"That does seem inconvenient, as we would then have to undress each other again," Sydney mused. "Enjoyable as it is - both the washing and the undressing. And besides, when we engage in certain more _rigorous_ activities, you can be a bit loud." The smirk with which he looked down at Hardin was most definitely _entirely_ Sydney. "I would not have you hold back - but neither would we want the innkeeper to come knocking, would we?"

That thought was both humiliating and... the idea of what Sydney might be doing to him to cause him to shout aloud was enough to make Hardin even less interested in dressing again. "...Very well, let us stay."

The way Sydney kissed him when he leaned down again, it might not take very long at all before they could continue.


End file.
